


On The Rocks

by jojo_sain



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies), Kingsman (Movies), The Isle of the Lost Series - Melissa de la Cruz
Genre: Barely Friends to FWB to Lovers, F/M, Fun fight scenes!, Harry's a cocky little punk, Kingsman AU, Partners in stopping crime, Statesman AU, Uma's trying not to fall for him, this is a fun one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojo_sain/pseuds/jojo_sain
Summary: The Kingsman have been recruiting new members for their agency after the massacre of their elite agents. In their most recent round of testing, Harry Hook made it as one of two final recruits, but he failed in the final test and was dismissed from the Kingsman. However, since their sister agency in the U.S.A. kindly transferred some of their elite spies to help fill the void left by the Golden Circle, Kingsman sent Harry to Statesman as a return of their generosity. Everyone in the Statesman seems to welcome Harry, code name Scotch, with open arms. All except one...Uma, who is training to take over the position of Tech Master after Ginger Ale became Whiskey, is sick of this new agent with his flirtatious tendencies, careless attitude, and European charm. She wishes he would just leave her alone to focus on her work, but Harry is far too intrigued to just let her be.Let's see if these two agents can protect the world and learn to get along while they're at it.





	1. Code Names

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome to yet ANOTHER AU! This one is based on the movies Kingsman and the sequel Kingsman: The Golden Circle. This idea originally came from ishiphumasohard on Tumblr. I literally saw the concept this morning, made an edit, and started writing.  
> This is basically a series of drabbles following Harry and Uma as agents in the Statesman. If you have any ideas, please feel free to leave them in the comments or message me on Tumblr (dxscxndxnts).  
> Without further ado, the first installment of On The Rocks.

_ Why me? _

That was the only recurring thought to echo in Uma’s mind as she walked down the clean, white corridor. She kept her eyes focused on the wall at the end, and then when she turned a corner, she would focus on the next wall. At the bottom corner of her thick-rimmed glasses was a small map of the Statesman compound with a red dot moving in coordination with her own path. She didn’t need it, of course. She’d practically memorized the elaborate layout of the whole compound by now.

The halls were empty, for the most part. Most of the field agents were out on missions, either collecting mundane intelligence for the agency’s general use or scoping out potential threats to the country. Even some new recruits who were brought in to fill up the vacant positions on the Statesman were out in the field, yet here Uma was...

Trapped in the compound, showing this jerk around.

_ Why me? _

“Woah, sick!” exclaimed the brogue that was only becoming more and more irritating to Uma’s ears. She stopped walking, took a deep, composing breath, and turned around to face the rejected knight, who was staring out the window that took up the whole wall in fascination. Below the corridor they stood in was Statesman's impressive airplane hangar filled with fighter jets and weaponized sports cars.

“Don’t touch the glass,” Uma admonished, striding over and smacking his hand away from the window, which stretched the length of the hallway. “You’ll smudge it up with your finger prints.”

The young man she was burdened with–commissioned to take on the alias Scotch–held his hand to his chest and pretended to look hurt, though a playful smile took its place on his chiseled face. Uma rolled her eyes and continued walking in the other direction. “Hurry up, Scotch,” she said monotonously, not really caring if he actually followed her or not. “You’re wasting my time.”

“Come on now, love,” Scotch chirped as he made his way back to her side. “I was only havin’ a wee look at yer arsenal.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Kingsman-tailored trousers and fell into a leisurely stride, still managing to keep up with Uma’s more urgent steps. For every step of his brogued Oxfords, her western boots took two. Scotch mused casually, “Besides, there’s no pressing danger at the moment. What’s the rush?”

“Don’t call me that,” Uma fumed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t call ye what, love?” Scotch asked obliviously.

“ _That_ ,” she hissed, picking up her walking pace to remove him from her peripheral vision. It worked for a few seconds before he sped up as well, keeping himself even with her. His shoulders shook with an amused chuckle despite Uma’s obvious annoyance.

“Well, I’d call you by your actual name if you told me what it was,” Scotch suggested expectantly. Uma didn’t spare him a glance or a response, so he offered, “How about just your code name?”

“Don’t have one,” was Uma’s terse response.

“Every agent has a code name,” Harry stated as they turned another corner. This corridor was narrower than the last, and the walls were spotted with countable doors. Scotch smugly pulled at the lapels of his red, plaid blazer. “The Kingsman names its agents after the Knights of the Round Table.”

“So it says a lot that I’m not calling you Gawain right now,” Uma quipped, hoping a brutal shot would shut up the Scot, but to no avail. He disregarded her comment just continued to run his mouth.

“You ‘Statesman’ seem to use drinks as yer titles,” Scotch pondered with air quotes, unaffected by Uma’s jab at his recent failure. “So what do they call ye? Cola? Club soda? Coffee?”

“None of the above,” Uma deadpanned.

“What a shame,” Scotch sighed in disappointment. “Those things always go so well when mixed with scotch.”

Uma stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned her head to him. Behind his specs, a mischievous gleam shown in his blue eyes as they looked her up and down. Uma furrowed her brow at his sly smirk. Once his bold attempt to flirt registered in her mind, she didn’t waste another second to produce a knife from her boot and press the tip to his throat. Trained to be a fearless agent, Scotch didn’t so much as flinch.

“Listen up here, hot-shot,” Uma spat, nothing but distaste and fury in her voice as she spoke. “If you think that I wanna be here, giving the likes of you a tour while every other agent is out doing something helpful, then you couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“The likes of me?” Scotch repeated with a fake pout, putting his hands up in surrender. “Is that anyway to talk to a field agent.”

“Please,” Uma scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “The only reason you're here is because you were the runner up for a position at Kingsman, and they took pity on you and sent you here. They’re paying off a debt they owe since we gave them half our agents after their whole agency was wiped out.”

Scotch set his jaw, hiding the sliver of hurt he truly felt after she reminded him of his situation. Uma felt a small amount of sick satisfaction at finally getting him to shut up. 

“And the only reason _I’m_ here,” Uma went on, wanting to get her full point across. “Is because my superior, Agent Whisky, is out on a mission, so I’m stuck here with your sorry–“

_“Chocolate Milk!”_ boomed a reprimanding voice at the end of the hallway. Uma gasped and backed away from Scotch when she saw the head of Statesman, Agent Champagne, standing there in all his cowboy-esque glory. Uma quickly slid the knife back into her boot, but the older gentleman definitely caught sight of the blade. Scotch looked at her with a shit-eating grin. Now he knew her code name–and understood why she didn’t tell him.

“Quit harassin' this young man,” Champagne commanded Uma with his southern inflection. “And git ‘im properly equipped for duty. That’s an order!”

“Yessir,” Uma stammered, and Champagne gave her a curt nod before continuing down the adjacent hallway. Uma released a shaky sigh through her nose, internally chastising herself for acting so rashly where she could get caught by a senior agent. She pulled on the bottom of her dusty teal waistcoat to ground her emotions before setting her sights back on Scotch, whose expression got even more arrogant (if that was even possible).

“Now ye have to tell me yer real name,” he asserted, all traces of his proverbial wounds whisked away by his natural charm. “Otherwise, I’ll have to call ye Chocolate Milk for the rest of our lives.”

"I'll kill you if you do."

"Then Statesman will be down an agent and a tech master."

Uma ground her teeth together, biting back a whole slew of hateful slurs lest Champagne came back and yelled at her again. As much as she hated to admit it, this guy had to be _something_ in order for him to get so far in agent training. Also, as a field agent, he technically did outrank her, much to her disdain. She rigidly moved her arm to hold a stiff hand out to him before reluctantly revealing, “Uma.”

Scotch eyed her hand curiously, and his smile widened. He took her hand with his and shook once, not once taking his eyes off of hers. He still couldn’t coax a smile out of her, but he was a patient man. 

“Harry,” he replied.

Uma released his hand as soon she as could and let her arm drop to her side. After a long pause of silence where Harry did nothing but stare at her with his piercing blue eyes, Uma pivoted away from him and began down the hall again, ready to resume the dreaded tour and forget that whole scene which just occurred. Harry waited where he stood for a moment and watched her walk away from him, admiring both her external presence and internal fire. 

_Uma, eh,_ he thought, biting his lip. _Aye, I think I’m gonna like it here._

“Harry!”

“Coming!”


	2. Dress to Impress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uma brings Harry to the Statesman fitting room to put together his new agent attire. Their back-and-forth takes a dark turn when Uma continues to talk about things she doesn't fully understand.

Uma led Harry down every hallway in the Statesman compound, occasionally describing the area around them when she found it necessary–“Here’s the infirmary. Don’t go in there unless you’re dying or visiting someone who’s dying.” “There’s the kitchen. If you bring liquor for dinner, expect someone else to drink it at lunch.” “Over there is the Tech room. You’re not allowed in there unless accompanied by someone with clearance, which is either me or Agent Whisky, understand?”

Besides that and a few terse answers to Harry’s questions, Uma avoided conversation at all costs. He certainly tried to initiate it, but he couldn't coax any unnecessary response out of her. She was stuck with him, but that didn’t mean she had to be his buddy or respond to his lewd comments, which were a dime a dozen. She didn’t ask to be put in this situation, and she was determined to make it as painless as possible by ignoring him.

After the full tour of the compound, Uma brought him to one of the fitting rooms for him to be, as Champagne commanded, ‘suited up.’ The pentagonal room was small with an Old-West saloon theme. There was a low pedestal against one wall, bordered by three mirrors arranged like a tri-fold. On the wall across from it was a vast assortment of seemingly ordinary objects and accessories, though anybody who was an agent knew they were all weapons. Then, on the back two walls were a whole bunch of shelves, filled with stacks and stacks of clothes, varying in color, size, and design.

“Wow,” Harry breathed out in astonishment .

“Oh, come on,” Uma quipped, though she let a proud smirk slide onto her face. “I’m sure Kingsman has plenty of fitting rooms since y'all operate under a tailor and all.”

“Well, sure,” Harry mused, still taking in the whole space. “But I didn’t expect the Statesman to have one _this_ nice.”

“Go figure,” Uma retorted dryly before heading straight to the back. His low expectations of the Statesman were obvious, and it was one of the many things about him that pissed her off. She shook off his comment and started searching through the stacks of clothes. Without looking back at Harry, she flicked her head towards the pedestal and instructed, “Stand over there and take off your shirt.”

“At least let me buy you a drink first,” Harry teased, heading towards the mirrors and unbuttoning his plaid blazer. Uma just rolled her eyes and ignored him, like she’d been doing all day. 

Harry placed his coat on a nearby hanger and moved on to undo his cufflinks when he suddenly remembered their purpose. “Um, do ye have anyplace safe I can put these?” he asked Uma, pointing to his cufflinks. “They're actually short-ranged explosives.”

“Not in here, they ain’t,” Uma said matter-of-factly, tapping the sides of her glasses and focusing on him so her high tech specs could take his measurements. She turned back to the shelves and pulled a shirt off before moving towards the pedestal. While she worked, she explained, “This room has a weapon disabling field around it, effective on both Kingsman and Statesman weapons. That way, one hand grenade can’t detonate and set off the rest.”

She kicked a basket sitting on the ground towards him and added, “Put your Kingsman equipment in there. We’ll have the weapons recommissioned into your arsenal and the clothes sent back to your room.”

“Would my room happen to be anywhere near yours?” Harry asked with a sly grin as he unbuttoned his pristine white shirt. His suspenders hung down from his waist, and his undone black tie was still hanging by his collar. Before Harry shrugged off his shirt, Uma snatched his tie from around his neck and hung it up on another hook near the mirror.

Uma took a deep breath, her patience for his bold flirts being tested for the thousandth time. Harry tossed his shirt into the basket, and Uma offered him a similar one. She paid no mind to his exposed torso or the way his muscles, trained to fire a pistol while disarming three other enemies, rippled under the lamplight. It didn’t interest her in the slightest. Unlike _some_ people, she was a professional. 

“Ya know, a former Statesman agent once told me that we Southerners get our good manners from the British,” Uma recounted with a neutral expression while Harry pulled his new shirt up and around his body to slide onto his arms. Harry smirked into the mirror.

“I was born and raised in Scotland,” Harry told her as he buttoned the wrists of his shirt. “I’m afraid I’m not British.”

“That explains so much,” Uma shot back.

Harry’s smile only grew wider. Even when she spurned him, Harry couldn’t get enough of Uma’s sharp attitude and quick comebacks. He’d known her for less than a day, and he was already so enraptured by her. His favorite part was probably just how unresponsive she was to him. It only made the thrill of the chase all the more exciting.

“This shirt is so loose,” Harry observed, moving his arms about to test the feel and the range of motion. “Maybe I need a size smaller.”

“Nope, that shirt fits fine,” Uma dismissed his notion with an unimpressed sigh. “Welcome to America. We actually prefer to breathe in our clothes.”

“Geez,” Harry muttered, furrowing his brow at her offhand comment. “I’m just sayin’ I’m used to tailored shirts.”

Uma had to suppress a groan. No matter how irksome this guy became, she had to keep her cool. She just had to keep reminding herself that her arrangement as his guide was only temporary. Surely, after they parted ways following his proper equipment detail, he’d go off to his business as a new field agent, and she’d return to the tech room. She’d never have to deal with his smartass attitude unless there was a mission, in which case, he'll hopefully save the lines for someone who's interested.

Uma made her way down the clothing selection, grabbing a Statesman gun holster and slinging it over her shoulder. “What kinda jacket do you want?” she asked him.

“Nothing leather or denim would be great,” he requested haughtily as he tied his tie over his new shirt with deft fingers. Uma had to clench the shelf in front of her until her fingers ached. One small comment was all it took to put her on edge. This was _Kentucky_ , for Christ’s sake! A good 90% of any given person’s wardrobe is probably leather and denim. Hell, Kevlar-woven denim jeans were _apart of the Statesman uniform!_

“God, I can’t believe this,” she grumbled in annoyance, doing everything in her power to all but shout at him for his audacity. This smooth-talking Scotsman just waltzes into her compound, her home away from barely-home, and expects to be treated with the respect that he hasn’t even earned yet. Maybe the other agents can pretend like it’s okay, but it was beyond unfair and an insult to the agency. 

“Is there something wrong with a material preference?” Harry chuckled, looking over his shoulder once he’d perfectly tied his Half-Windsor knot. The inflection of his voice, one filled with a combination of impish and boasting, made Uma’s blood boil. The flirting, the circumstances, the stuck-up attitude, everything he said and how he said it–it all pushed her past her limit.

“It’s not about the damn material!” she snapped, her face screwed up in rage as she whirled around. Her voice picked up volume as she went on. “It’s about you being here when you shouldn’t be.”

“I’m a Statesman agent in the Statesman compound,” Harry said dutifully. “I’m lost on what yer gettin’ at.”

“You’re a rejected Kingsman, is what you are!” Uma seethed, finally letting out her anger after holding it in for the duration of their time together. Harry’s expression darkened as he stepped off the platform, his jovial smile turning to a frown in an instant. Uma didn’t let up despite already knowing this was a sensitive topic for him. She was determined to put this upstart in his place. “I don’t see how failing to meet their standards somehow qualifies you to–!”

A hard slam against the wall right beside her head cut Uma off, and she realized that Harry had crossed the room in two swift steps and smacked his hand against the wall behind her. Now, with one arm blocking her in on her right side and his backlit frame looming so close to her, she was forced to push her back against the shelves behind her.

“Where are those good Southern manners now, eh?” Harry hissed, all traces of his laid-back persona disappearing to make room for the menacing man beneath. His shoulders heaved with each deep, restrained breath, a sure sign that he was brimming with wrath. Uma didn’t shy away from his piercing blue eyes, which now seemed to glow in the low light. She returned his glare in spades.

“As a man of principle, I’ll give ye a warning this one time,” he whispered, leaning in closer. His words came off as soft, warm air against Uma’s skin, but they were laced with venom and did nothing to ease her contorted features. “I politely request that you never talk about me like ye actually know anything about me. _Ever_ again.”

Uma held his glower for a few moments longer, her nose twitching a few times out of irritation. His eyes flickered away from hers to something just above her head, and he raised his eyebrows in interest. The grimace, which had been firmly etched into Harry’s lips, cracked into his signature smirk. The hand he had against the wall reached to where he was looking, coming dangerously close to grazing Uma’s temple with his forearm as he did. When he pulled his hand back, he held in it a folded, red wool coat with black leather patching on the shoulders and elbows.

“This one’s perfect,” he decided gruffly, shooting Uma a wink before taking the holster from her shoulder and strutting back to the pedestal.

Uma sighed out her frustration through her nose as she tried to burn a hole in the back of his head with her scathing gaze. When that didn’t work, she looked over at the weapons display at the other side of the room. While she knew the guns and bombs were ineffective, the ordinary bullwhip was perfectly functional.

She closed her eyes to fight the temptation. _Just make it through the day, and you won’t have to deal with him anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, got the second part in one day later! (Don't expect this, this is a special case lol) I'm getting so many ideas for this AU guys. Yesterday I had like 6 ideas and today I have like 12. I cannot wait to share them all with you.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed Dress to Impress. We can definitely see just how much Uma and Harry's personalities clash when put in a situation where they didn't grow up together. This is a dynamic I am so thrilled to explore.
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought in the comments! Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you next time! -JoJo, as she should really be going to sleep ;)


	3. Supervisor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uma finds out that she'll be seeing more of Harry than she ever wanted to suffer through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, welcome to another chapter of On The Rocks! Just a heads up that I begin school next week, so updates may be even slower but fear not, I am not giving up this fun work! Part of the reason why my updates take so long is that I've already written some future chapters, so hey that's good right? Anyway, enjoy chapter 3!

11:30 a.m. Lunchtime. One of the few times in a day when Uma didn’t have to squint at a screen, walk around the endless hallways, or take orders from belittling old men. Don’t get her wrong, she had nothing but respect for the senior agents of Statesman. However, the way they spoke to her like she was less than capable of doing any given task was something she needed a break from.

The young tech assistant was enjoying her lunchtime in peaceful silence. Most senior agents were still out on missions, their subordinates were still working, and the new recruits ate at a later time. Uma could just relish in the blissful quiet, only occasionally interrupted by the bitter sound of her fork scraping the bottom of her salad bowl. It was so nice…

Until another lunch tray slammed in front of hers, and a devilishly handsome eyesore slid into the seat across from hers.

“Good mornin’, Uma,” chirped the cheery voice of one Agent Scotch. “Don’t mind if I sit here, do ye?”

Uma glared daggers at him as he dropped his napkin onto his lap and picked up his sandwich. She hadn’t seen him since their less-than-pleasant introduction the day before, and she didn’t want to see him. When Harry raised his sandwich to his mouth, he glanced up and caught her staring at him. Uma looked back down at her salad, not saying a word. Harry took note of her silence and set his sandwich down.

“Ye know, where I’m from, one greeting is usually exchanged for another,” he advised, and Uma spared him another lethal glare before focusing back on her idly shuffling fork. Harry tilted his head teasingly. “Or would ye prefer it if I addressed ye with yer code name?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t address me at all,” Uma droned coldly, stabbing at her salad with a fierce flick of her wrist. 

“No need to be snippy,” Harry smirked, his tone feigning innocence. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice to my supervisor.”

Uma slammed her fork down, fed up with his constant insistence on bothering her despite her constant insistence on ignoring him. “I couldn’t care less about what you’re trying to–“ she hissed before cutting herself off. His words bounced around in her head before she repeated in a confused voice, “Supervisor?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Harry affirmed with a chuckle, but the confounded look on Uma’s face showed that she didn’t follow. Harry was hoping to avoid the explanation, but he figured he’d have to swallow his pride and tell her. He cleared his throat and took up a confessional disposition. “Look, I thought about what you said yesterday–”

“I said a lot of things yesterday,” Uma retorted indifferently.

“–And I spoke to Head Agent Champagne about my qualifications,” Harry continued, ignoring her backhanded comment. “We agreed that I was indeed trained in different disciplines of agent work and field combat, so he decided that I should shadow a well-rounded, longtime member of this agency…”

He trailed off, waiting for Uma to pick up on who he was referring to. He already felt out of his element admitting that she was in fact right to object to his commissioning as a senior agent of Statesman. When Uma finally came to the conclusion he was insinuating, her bewildered expression fell into complacent disbelief.

“Nah uh,” she replied harshly. “No way.”

“Hold on–“ Harry tried to ease her apprehension.

“No, I actually have work to do, believe it or not,” Uma asserted, tossing her fork into her salad bowl and swinging her legs out from under the table with the intention of leaving the sheepish Scot. “I don’t have time to babysit a senior agent who has no idea what he’s doing.”

“Uma, wait–“ he called after her, standing up, but Uma didn’t give him a chance.

“Get someone else to do it,” was her last word before storming away from the table. She couldn’t believe him. After clearly not getting along the day before, she expected her to be his lookout? He was probably just avoiding having a senior agent as a supervisor so if anything went wrong, he could just blame Uma’s lack of rank. Uma’s blood boiled at his audacity. After throwing out her half-eaten salad, she stomped away toward the exit. She was about to throw the door open when it almost smacked her in the face and none other than Head Agent Champagne stepped forward.

“Ah, Chocolate Milk,” the old man greeted in a gruff voice, and Uma internal grimaced at her code name. “Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh uh, just back to the tech room, sir,” Uma replied respectfully, straightening her blazer to make sure she was presentable. 

“Well, I’m glad I ran into you, then,” Champagne chuckled merrily. “I wanted to tell you your new temporary position.”

“My…what?” Uma questioned.

“I want you to act as a supervisor for Agent Scotch,” he stated authoritatively. “Ya know, show ‘im the ropes, teach ‘im how to use the gadgets and gizmos, maybe tag along on his first few missions, just until he becomes fully reflective of what I’m lookin’ for in a Statesman Agent.”

Uma’s nervous smile fell. Her accusation of Harry was false. It wasn’t him trying to avoid being under the watchful eye of an experienced agent. It was actually Champagne’s idea! 

Uma now had different feelings about turning the position down…primarily out of fear of the head agent.

“You–you do?” Uma stammered, praying that she misheard her superior.

“Of course!” he declared proudly, his Southern accent thick. “Why, you’re one of mah hardest workin’ assistants! I can’t think of anyone better to whip that buckaroo into shape.”

“Well um, I’m honored, sir,” Uma said graciously, feeling her ears get a little warm at the compliment. However, she still didn’t want to deal with Mr. Tailored Shirts over at her table, so she suggested sheepishly, “But wouldn’t a field agent be more qualified?”

Champagne shook his head. “I need mah field agents out in the field,” he boomed like it was obvious, resting his hands on his hips. He took up a knowing look and glances between Uma and where she knew Harry was sitting behind her. “Besides, Scotch tells me you two’re gettin’ along pretty well yesterday.”

“He said that?” Uma scoffed, and she had to do everything in her power to avoid laughing out of spite. If what they did yesterday was ‘get along,’ then Uma figured she’d have to kill him to get the message across that she finds him annoying. “Well, if I’m being completely honest, sir,” she stated earnestly. “I can’t stand him.”

“Ain’t that a pity,” Champagne wondered aloud. He let out a deep sigh and added optimistically, “Well, you two hardly know one another.” He gently placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her around until she faced where Harry sat with his back to her. Champagne didn’t see her roll her eyes. “Who knows? You may find you have more in common with ‘im than you think.”

With that, the head agent walked off to grab his own lunch while Uma remained where she stood, glaring holes into the back of Harry’s head. Her conversation with Champagne repeated a few times in her head. Supervising a half-baked agent? That was almost a demotion! 

But he did say she could go on missions with him. Training and monitoring Harry would mean less squinting at screens, less walking down hallways, and _she_ could give _someone else_ orders.

Okay, maybe the gig wasn’t that bad.

Uma strode back over to the lunch table and knelt on the bench beside Harry. He was reaching for a fry on his tray at the time, but Uma quickly swatted his hand away and took a handful of fries from the tray. Harry looked up in confusion at the girl beside him.

“Back so soon?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow in amusement as she popped a fry into her mouth.

“Be outside the compound entrance at one,” she instructed, every part of her demeanor commanding respect except for the chewing in between words. “Meet me by the main building, the one that looks like a giant whiskey bottle, and don’t be wearing those fancy dress shoes.“ She gestured loosely to his Oxfords under the table with a look of disgust on her face. “Wear the boots I gave you yesterday, got it?”

Harry chuckled softly, facing her stern expression with a small pout. “Not even a please?” 

Uma smirked and tilted her head. “I would watch my mouth around my supervisor if I were you,” she retorted cooly before whipping around and walking away, braids swinging side to side. What she didn’t notice was Harry watching her the whole time, all the way until she left the cafeteria. He turned back to his lunch tray–now sorely lacking in french fries–and couldn’t help the fond smile spreading onto his face.

* * *

 

It was a pleasantly sunny day in Kentucky. The Statesman compound, as always, smelled of dry earth and distilled liquor. Uma sat with her legs crossed on a bench beside the compound entrance. On most days, tours were held around and about the iconic brewery, but thankfully, today just so happened to be a lucky day off.

Just as Kingsman agents trained similarly to how they fought–in button downs and trousers–Statesman agents also trained similarly to how they fought. Uma’s fitted jeans were tucked into her boots and held up by leather suspenders, which sat snuggly over her tucked white tank top. 

When she heard footsteps approach her, Uma was thankful for this small fact, because she didn’t mention training to Harry at all. He walked out in his full Statesman attire, but luckily he could just shed his coat and tie to be ready for what she had planned.

“So, why do I have to have these boots on again?” Harry whined once he stopped right in front of her. Uma put her hands on her knees and stood up, so they were face to face.

“Because we are going for a run,” Uma announced with a hangman’s grin. “And you gotta learn how to move in those things. Statesman protocol.”

“I can run just fine in my Oxfords,” Harry boasted, stepping aside to undo his tie, shrug off his coat, and set them down on the bench. “Frankly I prefer them to these riding boots.” He undid a couple buttons on his shirt to let himself breath while running. With a dreamy sigh and a far-off look, he added, “All I had to do was click me heels and a poisoned knife would pop out from the toe.”

Uma laughed and pursed her lips. “Aw, that’s cute.”

“Cute?!” Harry repeated in disbelief. “Oh okay, and what exactly makes these boots so special?”

Uma folded her arms over her chest with a smug expression before kicking her heel against the ground as though she were a western line dancer. Almost instantly, the spur behind her heel spun around so fast that the metal star began to look like a solid circle. Uma held her knee up with exemplary balance so Harry could get a good look at the high-speed, spinning spur.

“A miniature buzzsaw,” Harry praised with a nod of his head. “Impressive, but is it poisoned?”

“Why don’t you test it out yourself?” Uma shot back smugly.

Harry put his hands up in surrender and took a step back. Uma lowered her leg and kicked her toe into the ground to turn off the spur, satisfied by Harry’s submissive reaction. Then, she turned to the bench to grab what she called ‘motivation’: a black riding crop. 

“Alright.” She faced Harry with a devious smirk and smacked the head into her free palm before instructing, “Turn around.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the crop, but a mischevious smile spread onto his cheeks. “Oooh,” he hummed, starting to turn around. “Kinky.”

“Actually, one more thing,” Uma demanded, holding up a finger and stopping Harry from turning completely around. She looked him dead in the eyes with a severe expression. “I’m done with this whole cocky, highly sexualized, high horse mentality you got going on here. From here on out, no more of it.”

“Scared ye might like it one day?” Harry joked.

“It’s unprofessional and immature,” Uma quipped, clearly done with Harry’s antics. "And I'm more than happy to tell Champagne you can't handle a proper work environment." 

Harry held her steadfast gaze for a few more moments before he decided it was time to throw in the towel.

“Alright well, yer the supervisor,” Harry conceded, this time turning around as she told him to. “Yer wish is my command.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Without any warning, Harry felt an abrupt weight suddenly thrust onto his shoulders and back. He concluded from the arms wrapped around his neck that Uma had leaped onto him.

“Dear God!” Harry shouted after getting over the initial shock. “Yer heavier than ye look!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Uma replied nonchalantly. She held her legs up at his sides, and Harry obliged and hooked his arms under her knees with a reluctant sigh. After a few shakes to adjust Uma’s position, she commanded, “Anyway, start running!”

Harry turned his head towards where hers hovered above his shoulder and stared at her incredulously. “When ye said we were goin’ for a run, I thought ye meant we’d both be runnin’.”

“You thought wrong,” Uma retorted factually. “Senior Statesman agents have to be up to the physical standard of a U.S. marine, and _their_ training regimen includes running with up to 100 pounds of gear.”

“And how much do you weigh?”

“More than that.”

“Yer insane!” Harry looked back at the dusty ground in front of him. Then, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something like a snake bite his calf.

“Ow!” he exclaimed.

“If you don’t start running,” Uma threatened, holding her crop high above her head while hanging onto Harry’s shoulders with the other arm. “I’ll hit you again.”

Harry winced at the lingering sting the crop left on his leg. “Aren’t there laws against this kind of workplace conduct?” he whined childishly.

“Statesman operates outside the law,” Uma reminded him, slapping the crop against his calf again and soliciting a groan from her steed. “Get moving!”

_ So much for getting along. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that chappy! While Uma and Harry's relationship seems a little 'on the rocks' at the moment (see, there is a reason for the title), I can assure you that they will warm up to each other within the next two or three chapters! Lemme know what you thought of chapter 3, and I'll see you for chapter 4 (where we meet a character who is near and dear to any Huma shippers heart ;D) -JoJo, who used a staple gun today MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!


	4. Beer's Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry suspects that Uma has it out for him–and he's right! But before he can get to the bottom of why she resents him so much, he'll be introduced to the sons of a fellow senior agent, Agent Beer.

Everything hurt.

His legs hurt. His arms hurt. His eyes hurt. His brain hurt.

 _Everything_ hurt.

Harry laid face down on his small bed, clutching his pillow against his face. He’d barely awoken from a very unrestful sleep when a rapid fist knocked against his door. The young agent groaned softly into his pillow and began to slowly push himself into a seated position. His sore muscles screamed in protest while his tired joints popped loudly and repeatedly. He rolled his neck, grimacing as he felt it crack in several places. He sighed and peered at the door through half-lidded eyes, cursing whoever stood on the other side of the white wood. He desperately needed this sleep, and someone had the audacity to interrupt it.

Harry stood up and waddled to the door, the cramps in his legs making themselves known. A quick glance at his alarm clock told him that it was five in the morning. Pulling a muscle tank off of his desk chair and over his head, Harry scoffed bitterly. Whoever was at his door better have a pretty good reason because otherwise, he would use whatever senior agent authority he had to make sure this never happened again.

Harry straightened his posture despite his blaring back muscles and opened the door, his stomach dropping when he found Uma, very much awake and very much his supervisor, standing expectantly outside his door.

He had no authority over her anymore.

“Ye’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Harry grumbled, leaning his shoulder against the door frame and rubbing his red eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Nope,” Uma replied a little too happily, her grin showing her self-satisfaction at the disgruntled, evidently miserable man in front of her. “Breakfast in ten, training room in an hour.” She turned to walk away. “See you there.”

“Wait, Uma,” Harry mumbled quickly. Uma turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry combed his hair back with his fingers, the short locks still damp from the shower he took before going to sleep. He shot her a pained look. “We’ve been training nonstop for four days,” he recounted tiredly, so far getting no noticeable reaction from his supervisor. “Is there any chance that we can take today off to rest?”

“Not today,” Uma stated indifferently, and Harry's pout only deepened. She seemed rather smug for the person who made him feel that terrible. “Today is when all that soreness pays off.”

“How, exactly?” Harry questioned doubtfully.

“I’ll tell you in an hour,” she answered professionally, straightening her dark violet blazer over her frame. “I’ll see you then.”

With that, she turned on the heel of her tanned leather boots and strode off, walking with a destination. Harry sighed deeply and shut the door before pressing his back against the cool surface.

That woman was going to be the death of him.

* * *

 

Harry arrived in the training room five minutes before his hour was up. He didn’t dare be late. Knowing Uma as he did now, he was scared for whatever consequences Uma could have planned for his tardiness (he grimaced at the image of another run around the track with her on his back).

With his hands shoved into the pockets of his Kevlar-woven jeans, Harry looked around the giant room. It was housed inside one of the giant wooden buildings that appeared as an aged Statesman Whiskey holding unit, but it was actually reinforced with all new steel scaffolding, giving the interior–which had no whiskey in it–the likeness of a giant airplane hanger. However, there were no airplanes. Instead, there were sparring mats, sparring dummies, and faux-weapons sitting on racks all over the concrete floor. There was a length of the room set aside for target practice, where agents would throw axes and other mundane looking weapons at targets. Of course, Harry’s opinion of the obsolete-looking weapons changed when he saw the gleam of an electric current running through them mid-flight.

“Finally, you’re here,” called a voice to his left. Harry looked over to see Uma standing by one of the sparring mats. Behind her, two tall dark brutes stood on the mat, stretching their undeniably impressive muscles and chatting with one another. One was taller than the other, and the shorter one had longer hair, but they were identical in every other way. There was something else that looked familiar about them.

Harry wandered over to the mat, and Uma gestured to the men behind her. “Scotch, meet Gatorade and Powerade. They are Statesman’s best fighting partners.”

“Fighting partners?” Harry repeated skeptically, ignoring the bizarre codenames for now. “What, do ye just recruit strangers off the streets to be yer sparring dummies?”

Gatorade and Powerade–Harry couldn’t believe the names they gave these people–appeared as though they took some offense to his comment, screwing their faces in anger and grunting. Uma put up a hand, a signal telling them to lay off for now. They immediately went back to whatever conversation they were having before. Harry had to admit, when Uma had authority, she clearly knew how to use it.

“Of course not,” was Uma’s answer to Harry’s question, and the way she answered made it seem like the world’s stupidest question. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder and pointed at the men behind her. “They’re Agent Beer’s twin sons.”

“Agent Beer, huh?” Harry pondered, looking closely at the twins and thinking back on the few senior agent meetings he’s been to since his arrival. Beer was also a tall dark brute with giant muscles to compensate for his lack of brains. Harry tried to remember what his real name was, but all that he could come up with was the letter G. From what he could gather, Beer was apparently their best long-range shooter. Harry didn’t know he had any sons, let alone that they worked in Statesman, too.

“Yep, now here’s the deal,” Uma began, snapping in front of Harry’s eyes to get his attention back on her. She looked down at her watch. “We have about five hours until lunch, so you’ll spar these two for about…” She pretended to think about it. “…five hours!”

Harry gawked at her in disbelief. Sparring was barely supposed to last longer than five _minutes_ , forget five _hours!_ Not to mention the fact that these guys were huge and could probably take a punch without so much as shifting their weight. On the other hand, they could probably kill Harry with a hit to the head.

“Are ye insane?” Harry asked seriously, lowering his voice so no one else could hear his accusation.

“I’m appalled!” Uma gasped, putting a hand on her chest in fake surprise. “You dare say that to your supervisor?”

“Do ye just hate me then, ‘cause it seems like ye tired me out for the past few days just so I could have my arse handed to me.”

“Bingo,” Uma smirked.

Harry’s eyes widened. He didn’t think she’d actually admit to it. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Why? What did I do?”

“I have my reasons,” Uma said with a shrug. “It’s not important that you know them. You only have one thing to worry about right now.”

“And what’s that?” Harry huffed. Uma didn’t say anything. She just stepped off the mat, put her fingers to her lips, and blew hard, making an ear-splitting whistle that indicated the beginning of a match. Before Harry could react, one of the twins had grabbed his collar and yanked him forward while the other twin clotheslined him, sending him flat on his back. Once again, Harry was reminded of just how sore he was, but he had to push that aside. Letting his Kingsman training and fighting instincts take over, he narrowly dodged the next punch that was aimed at his head. Using the culprit’s momentum against him, Harry lurched up and smacked his forehead against his opponent's, sending the twin onto his side. Before the other twin could react, Harry spun on the ground and kicked his boot into the back of his knees. He too keeled over, and Harry used that free instant to kick off the ground and onto his feet.

Harry looked to Uma, who was watching with an unreadable expression. He was hoping she’d be shocked by his ability, but she didn’t even so much as blink. It boiled his blood. All attempts at charming her or impressing her didn’t work on her as they did on everyone else, so he didn’t send her the coy wink or cocky smile he usually did. Instead, he glowered resentfully at her. Still, her indifferent expression held strong.

Then, Harry felt two giant hands on his shoulders, and he knew this was going to be a long five hours.

* * *

Harry thought he died.

It sure seemed that way when he opened his eyes and saw nothing but a bright white light. However, when he tried to move, he felt every bump and bruise pulsing and throbbing against his skin. As far as Harry knew, one doesn’t feel pain in heaven.

Once Harry’s eyes focused, he took in his surroundings. He was laying in a bed inside what looked to be a medical ward. There were a few other beds that were for the most part empty with the exception of a another agent getting a ‘wrist issue’ checked out or someone who was just as unconscious as Harry was two seconds ago.

Harry scanned over his person, and he noticed that his white shirt was taken, though his white tank top was still sufficient in showing a few splashes of his blood. His boots were also gone, and an ace bandage was holding an ice pack against his ankle. A couple of other ice packs were placed on his ribs, his arms, and most notably his head. Harry wasn’t dead, but it looked like he gave it his best shot.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Harry slowly turned his head at the new, cheerful voice. Beside his bed was yet another tall, muscular guy, only this one had blond hair pulled back into a bun instead of black hair. He wore a white turtleneck tucked into his jeans and held a clipboard in his hands.

“Where am I?” Harry asked the blond.

“You’re in Statesman Medical,” he replied with a smile, scribbling something into his clipboard. “You were knocked out during training. Your supervisor mentioned you were supposed to last five hours. That’s a pretty ambitious goal.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Harry grumbled, pushing himself into a seated position. The man, who Harry assumes must have been a nurse, tried to help, but Harry waved him away. Curiosity sparked in Harry’s mind. “Do ye know how long I did last?”

“I think you made it to the end of the first hour before Uma–er–Chocolate Milk had to stop the fight,” answered the nurse, who clearly had trouble with the code names. Harry dropped his head at the answer. He was hoping to have made it at least half-way so he could show Uma he wasn't just some reject. The nurse noticed his turn in mood and added, “Which is impressive considering you were up against our top fighters.”

“She stopped it?” Harry scoffed in bitter disbelief, trying to imagine Uma saving him. “I’m surprised she didn’t let those oafs kill me.”

“Yeah,” came the awkward response from the nurse. He moved to the edge of the bed and inspected Harry’s ankle. With a half-hearted chuckle, he added, “Sometimes it seems like my brothers have no impulse control.”

 _Brothers?_ Harry thought with sudden horror. Now it was his turn to be awkward. “Ah, I’m sorry mate, I didn’t–“

“It’s fine, really,” the nurse, also one of Agent Beer’s sons, assured Harry. “I’m not exactly the ‘fighting’ type, so I get it when people don’t associate me with the mighty Gatorade and Powerade.”

“And what do they call ye?” Harry asked, wincing slightly as his ankle was moved by the nurse’s skilled hand. “First-Aid?”

“Nope,” he replied with a straight face. “Lemonade.”

Harry didn’t even find it funny anymore, the ridiculous code names they gave the junior agents and other Statesman personnel. He gave Lemonade a sincere look and tried again. “What’s yer real name, mate?”

Lemonade was taken aback by Harry’s kindness, but he answered truthfully with a shy smile, “Gil.”

Harry held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet ye, Gil. I’m Harry.”

Gil shook his hand, his smile growing a little more confident. When he released Harry’s hand, he looked over his clipboard again and cleared his throat, putting on a profession expression. “Nothing seems too bad except a minor concussion and a sprained ankle. You’ll need to rest for about a week, but you’re well enough to go back to your room. I can call down Uma so she can help–“

“Spare me the suffering,” Harry chided as he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He put some pressure on his ankle. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. He could make it back to his room on his own. “Knowing Uma, she’d sooner lead me into an active volcano.”

“Really?” Gil asked, his voice cracking in surprise. “I thought you guys were close or something.”

“What gave ye that idea?” Harry chortled, amused at the idea of that she-devil actually _liking_ him.

“Well, she hadn’t left your bedside all day,” Gil revealed, and Harry turned to him with a puzzled expression. “She looked kinda concerned. The only reason she wasn’t here when you woke up was because Agent Champagne came in and told her to get dinner.”

Harry processed his words, trying to imagine the very person who landed him in Medical sitting by his unconscious body. Was she twiddling her thumbs? Was she anxiously watching the clock? Was she just staring at him?

Did she even care?

“How long ago did she leave?” Harry inquired of Gil. He had so many questions for that two-faced techie, and he planned on getting those answers straight from the source herself.

“It’s a little after ten, so about thirty minutes ago,” Gil answered after looking at his watch.

“I was out for that long?” Harry wondered aloud. “Never mind. Thanks for the help, Gil.”

Harry leaned himself off the bed, ignoring the pain in his ankle. He was done beating around the bush and trying to understand Uma on his own. If he wanted to comprehend what made her hate him, he was going to hear it from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Impending Harry x Uma deep convo is to come in the next chapter! I hope you all liked this chapter! As always, let me know what you thought in the comments, I love hearing from you all! Have a great day! -Jojo, who finished watching The 100 and I stg if anything bad happens to Madi I will kill everyone in this room and then myself


	5. The Common Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uma opens up to Harry about why she can't stand him, but she finds they have more in common than she originally believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW TWO CHAPTERS IN TWO DAYS?!!! I AM ON FIRE!! Let's just hope I can write out the rest of the story just as smoothly. Also, to those who don't follow me on Tumblr (@dxscxndxnts), I recently announced that I have pretty much compiled the plot for the rest of the story. From what I can tell, this story will end after 16 chapters. I have an awesome story planned and working titles for all the chapters, and I'm looking forward to writing and sharing them. Without further ado, Enjoy Chapter 5!

Harry found Uma right where Gil said she would be: the cafeteria. Because it was much later in the evening than when most people ate dinner, the large room was empty. All lights were off with the exception of the emergency lights, giving the normally white room an eerie blue hue. Uma sat at the edge of the light, giving herself enough vision to eat but not enough luminescence to be seen by someone who wasn’t looking for her. Some orange light from the kitchen spilled into the cafeteria along with the ambient noises of clattering silverware in a washing machine, which managed to mask Harry’s presence until he was right next to Uma.

Her plate was practically untouched, leaving a whole serving of chicken and broccoli in front of her. Her arms were folded on the table, and she was staring at the space between her arms and the lunch tray. If Harry didn't know any different, he would almost think she looked guilty over what happened. She appeared to be in deep thought until she noticed Harry walk up to her. She didn’t look up immediately. Instead, she set her focus on the floor.

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” she pointed out monotonously before going back to looking at her empty space.

Harry chuckled bitterly. “I may need to go up a size,” he quipped. “Ankle’s so damn swollen, I dunno if I’ll ever fit into me old boots again.”

Uma’s head lowered even further, and Harry took a pause. Did she actually feel bad? Hell, it was all her idea to fight the twins, to begin with. Keeping a cautious eye on her form, Harry sat down next to her with his back to the table. He took in a deep breath, hoping to wait out the awkward silence, but it relented.

“I think ye owe me an explanation,” Harry put out.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Uma replied instantly.

“Ye kinda do,” Harry countered, turning so that he was straddling the bench. “Or did ye already forget that I was unconscious all day thanks to yer little sparring session?”

Uma finally looked at him out of her peripheral vision, keeping a neutral face as though she were studying him. She reached for her glass of water and, before taking a sip, mumbled, “I didn’t forget.”

“I’m sure ye didn’t,” Harry said with a witty smirk. “According to Gil down in Medical, ye stayed by my bed for almost as long as I was there.” Harry leaned an elbow onto the table, trying to get a read on Uma’s reaction. She was still hiding behind the action of drinking from her glass. “Now, I’m wonderin’ why ye’d do something like that when ye’ve made it crystal clear that ye can’t stand me. Unless I was wrong in assuming ye don’t have a conscience, I suppose.”

“Can you just leave me alone?” Uma requested, no spite or aggression in her tone. Harry thought it was rather uncharacteristic, which only made him even more curious.

“I’m afraid I can’t, love” Harry replied matter-of-factly, and Uma groaned inwardly at the nickname. “And maybe I’m an idiot for trying to get along with ye, but I thought it might make this whole ‘supervisor-supervised’ situation easier for both of us.”

There was a minute of silence. Uma was thinking about what he said, trying to figure out if he was sincere or was just trying to save his own skin. Truth be told, she didn’t enjoy watching him get the crap beat out of him. She thought she would, but it didn’t. Now, she just wanted to wallow in the guilt of it, but he was offering her an alternative. The question was: Would she entertain that alternative?

She sat up a little straighter and folded her hands together, spinning her thumbs around one another for a moment before deciding to take the risk. “I wasn’t always a tech apprentice,” she began, glancing at Harry out of the corner of her eye. “I was originally a candidate to fill an open senior field agent position.”

“Huh,” Harry hummed thoughtfully. He had to admit, he didn’t know how they picked their tech apprentices. Based on the fact that she wasn’t a field agent though, he guessed things didn’t end well for her. He chose not to bring that part up and instead inquired, “Which one?”

Uma rolled her eyes and propped her chin up in her hand. “Agent Wine,” she answered resentfully.

Harry narrowed his eyes, remembering the other senior agents. “The lass who looks like she dyed her hair with purple kool-aid?” At Harry’s description, Uma failed to stifle a small chortle, and he wondered if that was the first time he’d ever seen a good, genuine laugh from her. He cracked a smile as he continued. “I can’t _stand_ her! She acts like she owns the place just because she’s ‘dating the president’s son and can have this place shut down with one phone call.’”

Uma laughed even harder at his air quotes, and it gave Harry a small sense of warmth he had yet to feel with her. When she settled, she nodded her head. “That’s the one, and I can’t stand her either. We were actually good friends during training.” Uma thought back on it with a sad smile.

“So what happened?” Harry asked.

“Well, we both made it to the final test,” Uma retold, rubbing her sweaty palms on her jeans. “And they put us in separate rooms and told us that we had to kill our…”

Uma paused, and Harry prodded, “Kill your what?”

Uma sighed and continued with a hint of shame, “…our pets.”

Uma expected him to laugh, but Harry was surprisingly quiet. In fact, his eyes held the same gleam as a child listening to a bedtime story, awaiting the ending. Uma hesitated, but she eventually went on.

“A few months before that happened, we each had to pick a pet,” she explained, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “They said it would teach us responsibility. Anyway, because I’ve always loved the sea, I picked these two little seaponies, and–“

“Don’t ye mean seahorses?”

“Shut up.” Uma tried being serious, but she broke the facade when Harry cackled like an idiot. “This isn’t funny!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he warbled, wiping a tear from his eye. He sat up straight and put on his best serious face. “Continue.”

Uma took a second to think back on where she was in the story. “So I had my seaponies, Gretta and Cornelius–“ Harry snorted. “–And Agent Wine, who at the time was just Candidate Mal, had some lizard she named after her mom or something. When the time came for the final test, we were told we had to kill them, and well…” She trailed off and looked down at her hands, which had moved to her lap. “You can figure out who was successful.”

Harry considered the story, and Uma waited for him to break into another fit of laughter. She was once again surprised to hear nothing. She was even more bewildered to find him regarding her with–was that understanding?

“But they wanted to keep me on, so they offered me this position, and maybe,” Uma went on, rushing to make the next statement. “Just maybe, seeing someone just waltz in and get the rank I worked so hard for just to end up as a tech apprentice pissed me off.”

Harry flicked his eyebrows in comprehension. He finally got the answer he wanted. Uma hated him because of circumstance, not because of something he’d done. However, maybe he could make up for it with his own little story. 

“Can I confess somethin’?” asked Harry with a smirk. Uma nodded, uncertain of where this was going. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly. “I was rejected from Kingsman for the exact same reason.”

Uma blinked in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“I swear, I’m not lyin’,” Harry insisted with a lopsided smile. “If I was, how would I know that the guns they gave ye were actually filled with blanks, ha?”

Uma tilted her head, both confused and relieved at the same time. Confused because she couldn’t believe she had something in common with this guy. Relieved because she found someone who _got_ it.

“Now, for the Kingsman, we all had dogs,” Harry explained with story-telling flair. “I had me a wee corgi, and I named him Croc–“ Now it was Uma’s turn to snort. “–and when the time came for me to fire on him, I just couldn’t do it.”

There was yet another pause where they just looked at each other. This was the first time when they both got to really just take in the presence of the person beside them. They’d been bickering since Harry first arrived, but now, connected by their common failures, they found an unspoken peace between them. 

“Ye know,” Harry said, breaking the silence but leaning forward so he wouldn't have to raise his voice too much. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Uma nodded. Her tone was calm and light. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“So if ye agree to stop tryin’ to kill me for,” Harry offered humorously, and Uma smirked at him. “I can work on gettin’ ye approved to accompany me on missions.”

Uma’s face lit up like she was a kid on Christmas morning. “You’re serious?”

“Hell yeah,” Harry affirmed. “I’m still a rookie. I can’t go anywhere without my supervisor.”

He threw Uma a pointed look, and she gave him a smug grin in response. Then, he stuck out his pinkie finger. “Do we have a deal?” he inquired suavely.

She wrapped her pinkie around his. “Indeed we do, Agent Scotch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We have now passed the enemies-to-friends portion of this fic. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I can't wait to get these knuckleheads into more mayhem. Good night! -Jojo, who really needs to practice her monologue for her advanced theatre class, oops

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this quick introduction to what I hope will be a fun and amusing story! Let me know what you thought of it and what you think will happen. Will Uma fall for Harry's charm? Will Harry be rejected countless times? Will either of them ever actually be seen enjoying the drinks they are named after? Does chocolate milk go well with scotch?  
> Also, a quick reminder that if you have any ideas or requests for this AU, I would love to hear them. I can't promise anything other than my full consideration.  
> Love you guys! Thank you so much for reading! -JoJo, who has tryouts tomorrow, yay!


End file.
